Phooar missus I love scapes. There are a few seasonal foods that make me absolutely giddy when they appear in local shops, and the garlic scape is one. A fragrant aroma and taste like garlic, but with the intensity taken out. They are truly a wonderful thing in the kitchen. What can you do with a scape, you might wonder…pfft what can’t you do with them??
Chopping scapes with the trusty mezzaluna. Two handed chopping tools are safer for some of us....
1. They are of no use in defending yourself against trendy vampires. It’s just a scape, not a bulb. Stop looking for miracles, tilt your neck and accept that you may be spending eternity sparkling and acting like an angsty, hormonal, pain in the ass 16 yr old. Lucky you.
2. You cannot use them as an adult toy. I know what you are saying: “Anything, applied with enough vigor and/or repetition can be an adult toy.” Normally that is true, but after exhaustive research and more than a few “focus groups” (at best awkward, at worst involving the authorities*), I can tell you that is not so.
But you can do many things. Tonight I got out the mezzaluna (the somewhat frightening instrument in the picture above) and minced some scapes to saute with bacon for an omelette. Pretty marvelous.
Scapes and bacon! Yes, that is a lot of scapes. I live alone, folks.
Scapes are also great for things like soup and pesto, both of which will freeze like a treat – allowing you a little taste of early summer some time later in the year.
Well don’t just sit there…get yourself down to your market and get some scapes!
* And thanks for that Mr. Jorgenson. You could have just taken your $50 and left in a huff, but no we had to go and involve the constabulary.
I was at a gathering this evening where there were many ladies. Gazing around the room for a bit, I realized there was a pattern that connected many of these women. Most of these women.
It was this:
The smock-like shapeless, patterned blouse.
I understand the covering of the face, but the smiles? Ladies you have nothing to smile about. Those shapeless smock shirts are bringing you down. They are bringing our whole gender down, robbing us of any semblance of some of the best things that makes us women. They steal away shape, sensuality, natural feminine lines. They replace these with stripey lines in aqua, lavender and ecru. Try as you like to make these look fun in this picture – and as models you are working for a living. I can respect that. But you’re making this appealing to someone – not just someone….a roomful of women apparently. And they are buying it.
The more I looked around the room, the more I realised that all of the smock-shirt wearing ladies were of a similar age. An age not that far off mine, really. That’s when I began to sweat a bit. These are smart women – thinking women. And yet here they sit, in the smock-like stripey blouse. I am a smart woman, a thinking woman. How did the smock-like stripey shirt get past them? If it got past them, surely it will be able to steal past me. Will the day come when I am in a changing room, running my hand over the shiny synthetic surface of the dart-free, pleat-free, shape-free front of a blouse that is obscuring the very thought of me having breasts, thinking “This will do”? Will my will to be a woman ease out of my pores like a final, dying gasp?*
When that day comes – and judging by the numbers in that room it is coming – just put me out to pasture on a cruise ship somewhere, won’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll have picked up a set or two of these:
Christ I just hope I can muster up a smile.
*Yes, I may have slightly overstated the many complex things that constitute being a woman. You may take that as a measure of my fear of the smock-like stripey shirt.
Now that you are all assembled around the table, I guess I will give you a quick update.
I got single.
I got moved, but not really that far.
I still hate spiders.
Anything else you need to know will be issued on a need-to-know basis. Trust me when I assure you the cards have only gotten funnier and I still love you all in that same way.
And now you can buy shirts and other gear. Yeah. Wear me, drink me, button me to your chest. I am only giving you what you want.
I’m back and I promise this time I be better. I’ll be more attentive, I’ll notice when you’ve cut your hair, I’ll bring you little gifts.
I swear, this time it will be different.
Trust me, baby.
Here’s a story which every time I tell it to women it causes a reaction of “OH. MY. GOD.” and when I tell it to men it causes a reaction of “Yeah. For sure.”
Some years ago I used to live in a section of my city that has a fair number of ladies plying their trade on the corners. These were not the glamorous ladies of Pretty Woman cinderella-tales. They were hardworking ladies who in all likelihood were supporting addictions or other problems with their work. It’s hard to condemn them – they have reasons and situations often beyond my understanding or experience, but they sure did bring the tone of the neighborhood down. Um, further. They made it hard for any male pulling up in a vehicle outside my house, and caused my friend S to have to take her smoke break in the back yard, lest she be mistake for a loitering working lady. (In fairness to the Johns, that coat she had with the big faux fur collar was misleading at best.)
But the ones I found most curious were the morning hookers. The ones on the corners of my largely residential area at 7:30 in the morning – I’d see them frequently on my way to work. They puzzled me – I figured they had been out all night, had not made enough and were lingering in hopes of some extra work. But what hope at 7:30 am? Huh you would be surprised. I often saw trucks or cars pull up and around a corner as the ladies hurriedly followed.
When I began dating Mr Wry, I pointed this out to him one morning. “Look at them! Who’d have thought? A.m. hookers doing good business. What kind of guy is trolling for a hooker at 7:30 in the morning???”
Mr Wry looked at me like I was a bit slow.
“It would be easier in the morning,” he stated, matter of factly, going on to elaborate:
“If you stay out late to cheat on your wife, she would suspect you were cheating on her. Leave early for the office and you are just a hard working guy who wants to, um, get ahead.”
I stared at him for probably about a full minute, probably not blinking once.
Morning hookers…who knew?
NO, it’s not porn. OK, maybe food porn.
This weekend we took delivery of 1/4 of a cow and MAN was that a lot of meat.
THIS was part of my mother’s portion. She did not eat it all in one sitting, I am told.
It was meat nuttiness
The next day I cooked a ham – something I have never enjoyed. Pink slippery meat…gah! (I await your ribald comments.)
But it was goooood. It has lots of outer fat which I glazed and it got all crispy and delicious and crunchy and fatty and then I was up at 5am feeling barfy and maybe eating that much straight up pig fat in one sitting is not for me. ( I was repeatedly warned by others to hold back but it was CRUNCHY, people!!)
I loved it.
Ham… pink slippery meat never tasted so good!